


Touch of His Hand

by Zhie



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bunniverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 21:04:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11067120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: A rather dark little piece, written in first person point of view after dwelling on someone's comment regarding Maeglin not being as bad as everyone believes him to be, that he didn't just give in to Melkor the secret of where Gondolin was right away.





	Touch of His Hand

I felt so brave when I stood before him, proud and defiant. Perhaps for the first time, I felt most like my father's son. The strength of my mother was with me as I waited; stoic and unmoving, appearing bored with the situation.

There was nothing I should have feared more, but at that moment I did not - not yet, not quite yet. What was he? Only the fallen. Only the one who had been cast aside. We were not so dissimilar, Melkor and myself. Yet, I could not imagine myself in league with him - not yet, not in those moments.

I expected a voice to challenge the mountains, one which would sicken me to hear; his was a surprisingly sweet melody only the Ainur possess. I thought I would be shoved to my knees, chained to the walls, tortured and beaten. None of these things happened as he made his promises to me. He offered things I did not believe he had the power to give - the hidden city, Idril's heart. His attempts to gain my allegiance only made me wish the inevitable. Then he smiled.

"You expect me to kill you? Dear boy, why would I do that? Do you not know how easy death is, how merciful it would be?" A pause for my reaction, then he continued. "I do not want the city, and I do not want your would-be lover. What I want is revenge, against those who wronged me. If you stand in my way, I will have no choice but to punish you for that. Do you really want me to have to do that to you?"

It was then, with a touch of his hand, that I trembled. He cupped his hand beneath my chin so that I could not turn away. "You believe you can handle the whip, to be tortured and dragged o'er rocks, your body broken and bleeding. Wounds heal, scars fade - but you do not realize my power and wrath. I can break you in such a way that you will crawl upon your hands and knees to beg me to stop - you will cower before me, unrecognizable to those who know you now."

"I will never serve you," I dare to say.

"Not by force; that I believe." His hand grasps my throat, squeezing tight so that I cannot talk and breathing is difficult. "You remind me of a little elf from Doriath who charged me once. I knew when he was brought to me that it would be impossible to turn him. But he was strong. And young. Just like you. He worked hard for me for years, and though he might deny it, he soon cowered at my feet just as you will. Unless of course..."

His fingers loosen a bit and I cough. "I do not believe you," I manage to say.

"No, I suppose you do not." He touches me again. This time it is his hand upon my head, and I try to jerk away. His hold is too strong, and images flood my mind. Though it starts as a dream, almost at once it becomes real, and I relive the horrors that were inflicted upon another. I expected the pain, but the mental anguish is nearly unbearable.

When it is over, I fall to my knees. My hands reach for my face, fingertips exploring. The damage I imagined did not affect me, and I begin to weep. Someone takes hold of my arm, lifting me to my feet. My guts feel cruelly twisted and I fight not to expel my bile upon the floor.

"So," he asks as his sinister touch chills me to the bone once again, "do we have an agreement?"


End file.
